


Lunch Box

by hellhoundsprey



Series: lunch!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'verse' is short for 'versatile' which means the character both bottoms AND tops in this fic, Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Kevin Tran, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Consensual Puppy Play, Past Child Abuse, Piercings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Verse Dean, verse sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Sam never wanted a boyfriend until Kev slips his fingers into his hand and laces them together.





	Lunch Box

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't leave them alone. Also I'm sorry.

Kevin isn’t used to being stared at like this. Doesn’t know what to make of it, think of it. Makes his eyes dart helplessly, uselessly, and his smile deepens like a cry for help.

“Uh, so, what are you doing, later?”

“Probably hit the gym.”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah.” Kev sweeps his eyes over Sam’s exposed shoulders, forgetting that Sam is watching him do it, catching himself too late. Flushes, nervously, and begins to fumble for his phone.

“And you?”

“What?”

“What are _you_ doing,” says Sam, pointedly calm and perfectly aware of what is happening inside of him.

Kevin blinks, blabbers, “Violin. Practice. Uhm, I, I practice every day. From seven to nine.”

Sam smiles. “And what do you do after nine?”

“I repeat our lessons. I mean, the tutoring. Yours. That.”

Sam’s not wanted to do violence like this in ages. Feels his dick throb with it, tells Kevin, “Wow. Dedicated,” and doesn’t move an inch so he won’t touch him.

“It’s necessary.” Wet-admiring eyes. “Not everyone’s a genius like you, man.”

~

“You’re late.”

Sam hauls his backpack from his shoulder, drops it next to the shoe rack. “Sorry, traffic was a bitch.”

“Traffic.”

“Yeah, man. _Traffic_.”

Dean’s come close now, close enough to touch, but doesn’t. Just gazes at the bulge of Sam’s arms, the cords of his neck. He’s not suicidal enough to put a hand on Sam when he’s looking at him like he is.

“Did you shower yet?”

“Yeah.”

Sad nod. “Are you hungry? There’s some—”

“I ate at school. And had a protein shake after gym.”

“…Okay.”

Sam makes a beeline for the bedroom and Dean doesn’t tail along. After getting ready for bed and idling for a while, sounds of the TV a comforting white noise (staged laughter, bits of music), Sam decides to get back up.

“Hey.”

Dean’s through half a bottle of Balvenie, is a sad heap on the sofa. Sam’s appearance startles him, and he looks up at him with big eyes.

Sam shrugs. “Wanna fuck?”

It’s been a few weeks. Dean stopped making advances, at some point, started drinking more. Such a fucking child. Sam commutes every day just to spend the night here. That’s what Dean wanted, after all.

It’s hasty and disappointing. Sam turns over, pulls his shorts back up, and forces himself to sleep.

~

He’s met Kevin’s mom almost as often as the kid himself. She’s alright. Immune to Sam’s charm, absolutely, but alright. She just wants the best for her son, and she pays well. Sam can’t complain.

Linda’s presence seems to make Kevin feel emasculated. He’s making himself even smaller than he already is, except when he’s repeating what he’s learned, all robot-like. He has special playlists for studying. Certain songs by certain masters to help stimulate his neurons, or something—utter bullshit. Would be better if Sam recorded a studying podcast of some sort for him. Record himself jerking off, grunt Mrs. Tran’s good boy’s name into the microphone.

Kev’s moving his lips along to what he’s doing. Talks to himself, whispered mutters, earbuds wedged deep. In another world, with Sam right next to him. Oblivious.

~

“There’s this kid.”

“Kid?”

“I’m tutoring him,” admits Sam.

Dean blinks, takes that in.

“About yea-high.” He holds his hand at armpit-level.

Dean lets him talk. Take his time.

Sam says, “Freshman. But he doesn’t look eighteen. Definitely not.”

He has to avert his eyes. Puts his knuckles to his teeth.

Eyes back to Dean. “Was that how it felt, with me?”

~

“You’re gonna take part in pledge week?”

Kevin makes a face. Sam laughs.

“Okay. That’s an answer.”

“I’m not a party guy.”

“Why, you’ve tried it before?”

Kevin’s eyes narrow. He tips his pencil onto his notes. “Well,” he bursts. “Not really. But I’m just not, I’m—not the type for that.”

“How can you know? There’s different kinds of parties. You don’t have to get shit-faced if you don’t wanna.”

“Which parties do _you_ go to, then?”

Sam grins. “Hey, smartass, at least I tried. You have to at least try.”

“Why would I? It doesn’t make much sense. And I don’t have the time for that anyway, honestly.” Kevin frowns, head bowed over his notes.

“You gotta relax _some_ time, Kev.”

The kid laughs. “Hey, sure. Tell that to, uh, our professors. Or my mom.”

“You gotta think for yourself too, you know?” A gentle elbow to that side. God, he’s tiny. “Self-care. It’s essential.”

Kevin sags with a deep sigh. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

~

He could easily lift him. Just drop him on his dick, move him like a fleshlight.

God.

Sam groans against the ceiling and strokes himself through the mess.

~

Kevin pops one earbud out. Generously. “What?”

“I asked if you’re hungry.” Sam shrugs just so his muscles shift under today’s too-tight tee. “All I ever see you have is coffee.”

Kevin considers, with his eyes on Sam’s tits for a second or two too long.

Eventually offers, “I. I’m on a diet plan.”

Sam’s heart skips. He says, “Linda?”

Kev nods.

Sam hauls him to the cafeteria. They have three slices of pizza, each. Sam talks him into chocolate lava cake, and Kevin close-to sheds a tear. Close-to panics, hyperventilates, and Sam rubs his bird-back in baby circles telling him Linda will never know, she won’t find out, promise.

Summer is approaching fast. The fresh air feels like a caress, and Kev’s eyes are tearing with allergies.

He sniffles, rubs at his face. Gazes dreamish, and Sam gets an itch in his balls wondering if Kevin would enjoy knowing the fact that his dick is pierced, too. “You work out a lot, huh.”

“Every other day. Try to.” He flexes, smiles. “Why? Wanna come along sometime?”

“Uh, I’d rather _die_.” It sounds dead-serious, but Kevin laughs anyway.

“I’d take care of you. Take you under my wing.”

Helpless, neck-scratched, “Better not. Trust me.”

He’s slim and tiny, but not necessarily skinny. Not like Dean. Not like Sam used to be.

Would be soft to the touch. Jiggle with impact.

“Thank you.”

Sam blinks awake. “Huh?”

“For this,” says Kev, and gestures around them. “Taking a break. I needed that.”

Shit, Sam needs him. Shrugs, in-love. “Even though you’re covered in snot now?”

“Yes.” Sniffling, back of hand. Chipped chuckle, an elbow into Sam’s ribs. “Yeah.”

~

The first time he touches him is important. Measured, and too much—one palm easily swallowing an entire shoulder and Kevin’s lurching away from it whole-body before he can stop himself.

Sam helps him settling into it by squeezing, leaning lower, peering just next to his ear. “You almost got it. Keep going.”

It would be so, so easy. But what his dick wants isn’t always necessarily wholesome, or even healthy.

He sticks with sporting a semi under the table. Scratches at his nipples, rakes his hair back. Dean hasn’t interfered yet despite it growing so long.

“You doing something on spring break?”

“Nah. You?”

Sam scrolls through his phone. Doesn’t figure it necessary to adjust himself in his sweatpants, out here in the corridor. “Studying, probably.”

Kev snorts. “Yeah. Sure.”

“What, I study all the time.”

“If you say so.”

“Hey,” firmer now, phone back to its pocket. “Believe me, alright? I’m not any better than anyone else here. I work my ass off just like everyone else.”

Kev apologizes; like Sam hasn’t forgiven him already.

“Relax, alright? What do you say, let’s grab a beer.” Arm around the width of him, so fucking dwarfed that Sam shivers from it. Keeps up that smile, ignores the hairs falling into his eyes. “Just one, yeah?”

Kev doesn’t duck or pull away, but his eyes are shock-wide. “I’m—I’m not old enough.”

“Lemme buy it for you then.”

“No.” He slips out, away. “No, sorry, but, I don’t wanna risk it. Sorry.”

Sam shrugs, still smiling. “Okay. Your loss.”

It takes Kevin all the way from library to dorm, cold shoulder from Sam the whole time, until he stops in his steps, throws a nervous look up at Sam. Rushes, “Only one,” and Sam ensures, “Only one.”

Sam grabs a six-pack and they pop two open just outside the dorms, after Sam assured a dozen times that, “Nobody fucking cares, Kev.”

Kevin’s still too hasty, half-chokes, makes a face. “That doesn’t even taste good.”

Sam laughs and downs half his can in one go. Yeah. Growing up is a disappointment.

He starts a second in the time it takes Kevin to go through most of his first. Pointedly looks anywhere but at the kid, knows those eyes are on him.

Hears, distantly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you do all this?” A wide gesture. Sam raises his eyebrows in question, and Kev specifies, “Are you just nice to me because she’s paying you?”

Sam laughs. “Wow.”

“Don’t laugh.”

Kev’s sour, so Sam sobers accordingly. Shrugs just because he’s an asshole like that. Says, “I don’t,” despite Kev’s I’m Not Buying It face. “Why? Is that such a wild concept to you, that someone could actually like you?”

Kid’s fumbling with his beer, little feet shuffling in the gravel. “It’s just. You’re so _cool_ , and.”

“I’m really not.”

“Oh my god, that you don’t even know it makes it so much worse!”

“Told you, I’m just like anyone else.”

“You’re not.” Shake of head. Kev’s hair is too short to move. “You’re really not.”

Sam chokes down every last bit he wants to say by spilling, “Okay, you’ve had enough,” and pries the almost-empty can from those hands. A mouthful or so is left in there, and he throws it back without hesitating. Really only thinks about it once he catches Kevin’s look.

Sam crushes the empty cans with his bare hands, gets up from where he’s been sitting on the ground and dumps them into the nearest garbage.

“Need me to walk you up to your room?”

“Yes. No. I mean—you don’t have to.”

“Let’s go.”

“Yeahokaysorry.”

Kevin’s silent all the way up, and Sam just hopes he didn’t go too far. There’s barely anyone on the corridors at just past ten, and those who are peer curiously at Sam and the beer dangling from his hand. Kevin’s actually buzzed; you can’t tell if you don’t know him, but Sam’s been obsessing. He’s not proud of himself.

Kevin shares the room with another Chinese-looking kid whose name Sam never bothered to remember. It’s quiet, no peep to be heard. Sam could ask to come in, just stay for awhile longer. He’s not good at this, props himself up against the wall instead while Kevin doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to head inside either.

Sam jokes, “You need anything else?” and smudges his thumb against Kev’s bare elbow.

Kevin looks at him like he just said the magic word.

Doesn’t reply. Frozen in the moment, the opportunity. Maybe he’s been here before with someone else. Or never was.

There are two ways he can play this—or, actually, there aren’t, considering their friendship wouldn’t survive at least one of them.

Sam’s always had trouble making friends. Leans forward, just a bit, palm encircling one twig-arm easy, loosely. Feels Kevin flinch, but lean in, not away.

Shuddered, “I, I’m.”

Sam breathes, “Yeah?” Tell me to stop.

Sam has to bend down forever, and maybe Kev’s craning his neck, standing on tiptoes.

It’s fast, and small, and Sam breaks just a little more with it. Smears his mouth over Kevin’s again, to chase the moment, to make this real.

Kevin’s kissing back so hasty Sam has to cup his face instead of his arm, crowds him against the door so they have this to themselves. Shields and shadows the kid and tilts his head like this is a romance novel. They don’t even use tongue.

Pecked kisses, and Sam’s so hard it aches. Has Kev’s little hands spread out flat on his belly, warm and nobody else’s.

Should say ‘sorry’, or stop, or walk himself into prison, let them throw away the key. Feels so happy he truly, really expects to just lift off the ground and float, ready to do anything at all.

Kevin’s got thick hair, and a heated face. Sam rubs his thumb along that cheek, underneath that eye. Holds him close, cross-eyed while he doesn’t say nothing. Kevin’s not even squirming. Has Sam’s cock wedged against his belly, and shyly pets his fingers over the bulged muscles in Sam’s stomach. Sags, and huffs, and Sam can’t take it to be looked at like that.

“Do you,” mutters Kev, tilt to his voice like this is a question, muffled because Sam’s on that mouth again and Kev just sighs, a vulnerable sound that forces Sam’s hand to let go of him, grab the doorknob.

Ewan McFuckface’s head whips around, propped up over his desk.

Sam walks in and tells him, “You gotta leave.”

Ewan goes from pissed to shit-faced scared in the matter of seconds it takes him to take in the height and mass of Sam. Catches sight of Kevin, maybe, who’s wedging himself into the room and begins to lament with a decisive, “Uhm,” and throws another not-subtle glance at Sam’s not-subtle crotch situation and spits, “What the fuck.”

Sam tosses the beer into the next-best corner. “Leave or watch. Your choice.”

Ewan doesn’t even gather his studies before stumbling out.

Sam hears, “ _Sam_ ,” behind himself, rucks the door closed. Turns and gathers all of Kevin’s waist and lifts him straight off the floor, accompanied by a yelp and then a thud when Kev’s back meets the wall.

Kev’s little mouth tastes like beer, and he’s slung all limbs he’s got around Sam so he doesn’t slip, or fall.

Sam’s humming into him. Slides one hand up Kev’s spine underneath his shirt, holds his ass with the other. Rubs his dick into the middle of it, indifferent to the denim preventing Kevin from feeling it right.

Hears, “Fuck,” and gets a hand into his hair, not tugging or pulling but just combing through. He bites into the corner of that mouth, earns a gasp, full-body startle.

Has to know, “You okay?” while cradling his baby, shirt rucked up into those pits. Gets a wobbly nod, a nervous-pitched laugh. Kisses him again, so deep he feels disgusted by it.

Kev’s Bermudas sit too snug to get his hand in there. A glance and then chin towards the beds; “Which one’s yours?”

“The, uh, that one.”

Sam carries him over, lowers him soft. Crawls after-over like some beast, and loves that Kevin’s immediately getting up on his elbows, neck arched pretty to kiss back at Sam’s mouth.

Sam’s fisting and pulling at that size XS Stanford tee, rucks it back up, needs it off while being painfully aware that they’d have to stop kissing for that to happen. Spreads his hand over that now-bared chest, just to feel, see how easy it is. Presses until Kev’s body gives in, and it doesn’t take much.

Kev’s gasping like he’s being crushed, and rolls his eyes up at Sam, blinks like he’s dreaming.

Sam’s sweatpants are slimed up in front and he rucks them down until his cock slaps free; one hand bearing most of his weight right next to Kev’s head, the other stroking once, twice, to spread out the accumulated mess.

Kevin can’t do much but gawp.

Sam hears him whimper when he goes up to his knees, pulls his shirt over his head, exposes himself like a cheap stripper. Is aware that his face is flushed, that he’s sweating and his hair must be a mess now.

Hovering-straddling Kevin like that, cock in hand, he feels weirdly incapable.

“You done this before?”

Kevin’s in half-shock. Can’t pluck his eyes off the squeezed drift-grip of Sam’s giant hand on his overly engorged cock, the wet shine of it obscene, fat piercing shuddering with every beat.

Stares up at Sam’s face, finally, mouth uselessly agape and hands up on Sam’s thighs, asks, “What?” like he didn’t hear him right.

Sam says, “Okay,” and lets his cock swing free, gets his hands back on the bed, his face back into Kevin’s. In a plank first, he lowers himself until they’re skin-to-skin, Kevin so fucking heated under him he might be naked and yet burns up.

Up on his forearms, passive, and Kev’s running exploring hands up the girth of him—the width of his back, sharpness of his flanks. Tickles unintentionally, until he squeezes, really _feels_ him.

Sam’s delirious. “You kept staring.”

“Oh, sorry…”

“No, it’s fine. God, so fine.” He grinds down, discovers that Kev’s anything but soft as well, and growls against Kev’s teeth. Rubs their foreheads together, eyes closed. “I like it. You, looking at me. Touch them. Fuck…”

Kev’s fingers snap away from his nipples. “Shit, sorry—”

“No, god, keep going, just…”

Kevin’s a good listener, and Sam deep-sighs.

Hard little Gameboy trained fingers pluck on both of his tits, crush flesh around the metal of his piercings, shifting and milking and so so harsh Sam now knows Kev thinks all guys’ nipples are just as insensitive as his own.

Sam lifts his hips just enough to get a hand between them, get at Kev’s pants.

“You ever got your dick sucked, Kev?”

Kevin’s eyes go just a little wider, his face just a little redder. “I’m, I. M-my, my. Ex, she…”

“Girlfriend?” hums Sam into that lip, making short work of that zipper.

“Yeah, she… I, we never, like, uh. But, that. We did that.” Then, more confident, “We did sixty-nine, a lot,” and Sam’s little-boy-brain stirs deep.

“Want me to do it?” I’m better than her, I promise.

Sam yanks those shorts down with the obligatory Mom-bought underwear, and loves the baby-thrust of those hips. Like Kev wants up into him, wants those shorts down under his ass, let Sam have that, too.

“Y-you don’t—you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” licked wet, already scooting low.

“Oh my god, oh my god—” Hands in Sam’s hair, both of them, helpless milk-thighs spreading all by themselves as far as the still-there clothes allow.

Linda’s precious college kid makes sweetheart noises. Sam’s been good at deepthroating for quite a few years now.

Kev’s a good average, not as small as Sam had fantasized, and Sam can easily get his tongue out, lap at his balls while holding him as deep as he’ll go.

Holding Kev down through the bucking is effortless.

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_.”

Girlfriends or wives don’t have much on Sam Wesson.

Hips in hand one, number two flirts around, rubs into the sensitive joint where leg meets torso, inside of that thigh, up-down that taint.

He lets Kev have some more leverage. Lifts his head just some so there’s actual space to fuck. Those nails scratching over-behind his ears, tugging his hair back as much as Kev’s attention manages, go right to his cock.

Sam’s toeing off his sneakers, struggle off the sweatpants completely.

“Fuck.” Sam swallows a few times, lets Kev shudder in that vice. “Fuck, you’re so good, it’s so good.”

Sam comes up with a huff, a cough. Folds the kid over, ass and feet in the air, holds him on the back of his thighs and buries his face here, next.

Hears nothing but surprise, feels him clenching.

“O… _oh_.” Softer, then tighter grip in his hair. “Fuck. Shit.”

He’s never heard him swear before tonight.

Tells him, “You’re so tiny,” sigh-laps that into where he’s easily soaked now, all Sam-spit and tongue. His cock pulses so hard his finger slips in along, can’t stop that, and Kev gives a weird noise. But Sam’s finger gets sucked on, begged in, crushed and hot and slick. He could force it in to the knuckle if he wanted. If he didn’t care.

Eyes up at that face. “Does it hurt?”

Furrowed brows, but licked lip. “It’s—weird.” He softens when Sam slicks his tongue in next to his finger, flinches cute.

“You played around back here before?”

Kev blurts, “No!” like Sam just suggested to set the building on fire.

Sam’s finger slip-slides. He smiles.

Kid melts, huffs, “I’ve never,” and pets around what he can reach of Sam’s arms.

Sam massages his ring finger around the stubborn little opening his cock is currently crying wet, wet tears for. Doesn’t angle in just yet, lowers the kid onto his back and scoots up; forearm curled around that middle, chest to back. Kevin has to crane and turn and work hard, and Sam just tips his mouth down, kisses his fill.

Kevin’s ass won’t quite accept two of his fingers. Still slick enough, Sam stutters them in nevertheless. Feels, hears and tastes him drawing that hiss and grinds his fingers up, wedges against that prostate and curls his arm tighter.

Kev’s ass flutter-sucks all out of sync, and Kev stammers his breath.

“That—you—”

“Let me.”

“Ah—”

Sam’s fucking his tongue in the one end like his fingers do with the other. His cock is twitching against his thigh, ticking with a pulse of its own and his wrist rubs the head occasionally. Like scratching an itch, a fruitless tease.

He shouldn’t do it. “Do you have any lube? Lotion?”

“I-in the, wait. Uh.”

Sam untucks his fingers, lets Kev go so he can scrabble for his nightstand. Sam spits into his hand and fists his cock with it, tugs at the head, peels at the foreskin. Takes in how the bottle of lotion looks in Kevin’s clammy hand, just plain anti-allergic lotion that’s not what they’d need in any way but that’s exactly what Kev uses every other night, maybe after showers, after studying with Sam.

Kevin offers, “I can suck yours, i-if you, if you want,” while he gets his tee pulled off his head for good. Stumble-falls into Sam’s mouth, around his neck, while Sam ignores everything else and gets those pants off as well. Yanks those sneakers off those bare feet and nods, heedlessly.

Sam spreads his legs out, sits up against the wall; he needs to see. Puts both hands on that head just because it’s so tempting, so easy to direct. Kev’s discarded the lotion, forgot about it, tongue out and jaw dropped, the first thing he meets is the ring, and Sam feels that baby-breath and tugs him down just a notch.

As much as he wants him to figure it out at his own pace, he wants to feel him from the inside.

Kevin has to really, really part his teeth.

Wraps his lips around the tip at first and slides all of that in, and Sam knows he tastes him, the metal and the salt and skin, pushes him deeper so when he comes up his lips move his foreskin.

He goes right back down. Sam shifts his thigh out, sinks lower.

Kev takes him up to the back of his mouth, to the tickle of his uvula. A few times, quickly gaining confidence.

Deeper, tighter, Sam sighs, “There you go.” Strokes through that hair, tells him, “So good. Take it slow.”

Yet, he’s the one pushing Kevin’s head. Small increments, and Kev chokes fast. Sam lets him up, lets him cough, guides him back down.

The back of Kevin’s throat is slick and perfect, and Sam watches that first half of his dick disappearing over and over, in fascination. Adoration.

Kevin’s slobbering all over his balls, his trimmed-to-nothing pubes. Coughs frequently now, crown of cock half-tucked into his cheek because Sam’s itching and can’t abandon this yet.

“Gonna make me come, Kevin.”

Kevin sighs a good-boy sound and takes him down, again.

Tugging him up half by his hair, half by his ear, Sam gets him to crawl into his lap, straddle him. Gets unsure arms around his neck and kisses all questions away, one hand on the back of Kev’s head and the other splayed on his lower back, tight.

Slurs, “Do you have condoms?” and doesn’t dare move a muscle in either of his hands.

“Uhm.”

“Okay, uh. We don’t—sorry.”

“No, I just—I, I don’t know, how to. What to.”

“Baby.” Both hands on that squirmy waist, because Kev’s lifting himself, rubs his ass over the soaked line of Sam’s cock. “Shit, stop that.”

“M-maybe like that?” he murmurs, wet-eyed and own drippy cock sandwiched between them, leaking all over Sam’s navel and he can’t, he can’t.

Kev’s holding his cock straight up, cups the underside of it and rubs his ass up-down the front, and Sam’s balls pull so, so tight.

The piercing slides back and forth, and the tip of it catches on Kev’s hole on every other stroke, and.

“I’m gonna. Kev. Shit, oh shit, that—”

His own joins Kev’s hand around his cock and helps nudging it right up his asshole, already unloading, half-thumbs it in under a shocked noise from Kevin.

Sam’s got him squeezed so tight, blinks stupid against that breastbone, and rocks him down when his own hips hitch up. Works the crown in like that, all snug and overflowing, dripping cream and mouthing so cute, so scandalized.

Kevin churns his hips down just so, and Sam growls, forces him down.

A whimper, and Sam snaps out of it.

“Fuck, sorry, I.”

“I’m, it’s just, s-sorry—”

“No, no, hey. Hey.”

He pulls out carefully and ignores the gush following their separation, tucks Kev close, monkey-cling.

They roll to their side, Sam still backed up against the wall, Kevin looking pale around the mouth. Sam kisses that better, studies that flushed face.

Says, “I’m sorry,” and means it. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Thanks for stopping.” Kev smiles appeasingly, gratefully. Plucks sweat-slick strands of hair out of Sam’s face and pets him sweet.

Panic recedes and leaves Sam dull-satisfied.

Tired. Exhausted, actually.

He can’t make Kev let him sleep here tonight. “Let’s talk, tomorrow. Okay?”

Kevin nods, says, “Yeah,” and rubs their noses together.

Sam dresses and leaves. Gets into his car, drives home, has a shower, a snack. Dean’s asleep.

~

Sam never wanted a boyfriend until Kev slips his fingers into his hand and laces them together.

Sam stares at it. He could have dropped the issue, altogether. He could have.

Kev’s trembling he’s so nervous.

“So, you wanted to talk?”

God, if only he weren’t so easy to pick up. Led around a corner, cradled on Sam’s lap, kissing like he’s drowning just as bad as Sam himself.

Kev smiles, “I like this talk,” and Sam wonders if either of them could get away with it if he just got his dick out right here and now, in broad daylight, between cafeteria and campus and at least ten sets of eyes that saw them rounding that corner.

He trembles, stupidly. “I have a car.”

Kev gawps. Understands. “I. I have class, in, like.”

“So when do you finish?”

Kevin tucks his face into Sam’s neck and groans all broken-hearted.

~

“You need a hand with that?”

“Nah. I got it.”

Sam returns to their bed, fleshlight and lube in hand. Dean throws them a sour face. “You sure do, huh.”

Dean’s usually out like a light by the time Sam makes it home, and Sam is usually too tired for more than a quick touchdown in the bathroom, or under the covers. Dean tired of announcing his displeasure long ago, but the way he looks at Sam shoving down his boxer shorts says he’s anything but over it.

“I could blow you.”

“I’m good, really.”

He’s been aching for this all day now. Didn’t see Kevin again; it’s not one of their tutoring days and kid’s got a crazy-tight schedule Sam couldn’t deter him away from. Yet.

Handful of lube, generously spread, and Sam sighs, sinks, lets his eyes fall shut. Drifts, head lolling to the side, nestling in against Dean’s shoulder. Letting him watch is more than Dean deserves anway. But Sam lets him when he starts playing with his nipples, pulls and prods at the barbells just right. Groans, more than pleased, hand wrapped around his cock the wrong way around so his fingertips tease the sensitive underside of it.

Dean uses the distraction slipping into the toy causes Sam to kiss him on the mouth, and Sam allows that, too. Closes his eyes, thinks of Kevin. It’s easy.

He starts up a quick rhythm. Like he’d do it to the kid, maybe not the first time around but maybe the third, the fourth, immediate and knocking all air out of both of them. Overwhelming, and Dean’s still mouthing at him.

Slurred, “Get your dick out. C’mon.”

Dean’s embarrassingly quick to oblige, up on his knees and sighing so sweet when Sam sucks him into his mouth, free hand taking care of those balls. Sam feels their ring when Dean pets stupidly at his face, tries to get hair out of the way, feel himself from the outside of that cheek.

“Shut up, okay?”

Dean answers in silence, in a bitter shudder over Sam’s mouth upon getting his asshole thumbed at. He’s real fucking tight around his thumb, despite all the lube. Sam switches for his middle finger instead, worms that in to the knuckle too soon for anyone who isn’t Dean Smith.

His ring finger slips in a few strokes later, and Sam can practically hear him biting his tongue.

He screws his hips up, holds the toy still. Groans, all-pleased, and bites around the soft flesh surrounding Dean’s cock. Gives him a third to grind on, thumb up against that taint.

“You’re not coming until I get the strap-on out. Understood?”

Dean’s ass seizes in compliance.

“Good.”

Cock back down his throat, laid out flat on his back once more. It’s not gonna take much longer.

~

“It’s for a concert.”

“Duh.” Sam fans the tickets out with the hand not settled fast on Kevin’s knee. “Are you in it?”

Kev smiles, mocks, “Duh,” and sets Sam’s stomach on fire.

He tells him, “You’re awesome, you know that?”

“Not really. It’s nothing big, or anything. I just thought, if you’re bored, or—”

Sam doesn’t let him finish the thought. Kisses him so sweet his cock gets interested way too hard. Sitting in the shades, in the park, it’s obvious they don’t have the place to themselves.

Sam should probably be more bothered by the audience than his lizard brain makes him be. His hand drifts up, just a bit, and Kev rubs at his hip. “Will I see you, tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” Another pecked kiss. “I can’t wait.”

Kev laughs. “I’m right here, y’know.”

“Not like that.” Nudge, knee to knee. Their coffee has gone cold a while ago. “I mean, alone. Having you to myself.”

Sam feels his own cheeks heat up with the rush of color and nervousness on that face.

The thing is, Sam’s not used to waiting. To taking things slow, and taking care of something.

God, he wants it, though. Wants to strip away all the ugly of himself, leave all the bullshit behind and be normal. Wants to not be this animal, this freak.

They can’t do anything in the library; it’s always so packed there in the evenings. But Kevin probably actually wants to _do_ some studying. At first, at least. So, Sam shouldn’t get his hopes up just yet. Shouldn’t obsess and mentally go through conversations like, “Hey, let’s just take the car, get out of here.” Kevin’s still low-key mortified about how they had thrown out his roommate. Sam can’t pull that shit again.

Kevin arrives bowed under the weight of tote bags filled with books, notebooks, his huge water/tea bottle, and smiles like a million suns. Wears that two-sizes-too-big Star Wars tee Sam had incorporated into too many day and night dreams for a while now, and elbows him like he hasn’t been up and working since six AM.

“Hey! What do you say, let’s tackle this?”

They have a favorite table. Close to the coffee vending machine, a window right there. Kev is sensitive to stale air.

Kevin always comes prepared, and Sam usually has to borrow a pencil. It’s fascinating how someone so small can carry so much shit around, spread it out over the entire table, and still be and look and sound motivated. The challenge is not intimidating him.

“We did, uh, chapters thirteen to eighteen today, and I thought we could go through that? You always explain it so much better, I dunno, sorry.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Good, great.” He’s shuffling through papers like a madman, only to come up with exactly what he was searching for. He hands it to Sam with a wide smile.

It’s been a few years since Sam went through these things himself. Working on his master’s degree right now, the early semesters are quite a reach-back. The topics are fun though. Revising them helps him, too, even though he is confident that bending Kev over the nearest surface would result in more benefits for both of them right now.

But that’s blunt. That’s vile. Kevin’s not like that. Or, if he is, Sam doesn’t want to be the guy who makes him realize that. “Okay. So, can you sum that up? In your own words.”

Sam doesn’t realize that Kevin is moving their chairs closer and closer together until he’s basically bumping into him, invested into the studies but seeking him out. He puts a careful hand on that thigh then, under the table, and Kev gives his hand an appreciative pat. Strokes it, sweetly, while he talks, free hand holding his textbook open.

Dean would hate him. So tame, so eager to please. Bubbly, and breakable.

Kev’s violin practice is supposed to start in half an hour.

“You didn’t come. Last time.”

Kev’s blinking up from his notes, pen halting mid-formula. “Huh?”

Sam drags that tiny hand between his own legs, rubs the back of it along the swell of his hard-on.

Kev blurts, “Oh,” and his pen makes a dangerously wobbly move.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“I, I did. When you were gone, so.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth can’t keep down. “You did?”

Kevin stutters further, lets Sam direct his hand. Stutters, “I, yeah. Y’know. I couldn’t… _not_.”

“I’m sorry I ran.”

“It’s, it’s fine, really. It was…a lot. That night. To process, I mean.”

“Yeah. Definitely.” Sam smiles all warm now. Is still dragging that hand, lets himself go stupid over it, tongue-tied. “I can’t stop thinking about it. You.”

Kevin’s chest ebbs desperately. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think about you all the time. About what I wanna do to you.”

Kevin lets himself get dragged closer by his hand until they’re shoulder to shoulder. He’s craning his neck hard so he can keep heart-eyeing at Sam, smudges his cheek into his bare arm.

Groans, “Don’t say that,” and curls his fingers so they touch Sam’s. Rubs only his knuckles along his cock now.

“Why not.”

“You know why.”

“Why,” he says. “’Cause it gets you all hot and bothered in front of everyone?”

Kev snaps, “You’re the worst,” and pulls his hand back, elbows Sam in mortification. Smiles, though, because they both know it’s true.

Sam’s gonna come undone with this kid. “Calm down so I can sneak us into the conference room, okay?”

Lock-picking is a specialty of Sam’s. Kevin almost busts them with his fidgeting though. Sam doesn’t have the patience to discipline him.

Sam guides him onto his back immediately once the door is locked from the inside, the room empty and unlit and perfect. Life keeps spinning just on the other side of the wall; the copy machines run continuously and students lament about nothing Sam has any capacity for right now.

He should drag him farther away from the door. Could see more, under the windows, but Kev’s so eager in helping him getting his Bermudas off that Sam is more than helpless.

Grumbles, “What do you need, huh,” and rubs their cocks together, still in basketball shorts himself, Kev’s legs coming up and crossing over his ass. Kisses that humming little mouth and it’s wet so easily.

“Tell me. The stuff you were thinking about.”

Sam growls, hides his face. “God.”

“I thought I was gonna d-die. Last time. When you—”

“Don’t.”

“—w-when you came in me.”

Kev yelps upon getting his neck bitten and Sam slaps his hand over that mouth immediately. Feels the kid tonguing at the meat of his palm and digs his teeth in again.

“I was dripping forever,” he manages, sounds so wounded that Sam’s chest hurts.

“You gotta shut up. _Now_.”

Two fingers hooked and sunk, until Kev’s teeth clamp around his knuckles. He feels him gagging. Feels him stuttering a sigh, try to suck around the fingers.

Sam glares at him, through the darkness. “Shit you do to me, Kev.”

He only pulls his fingers out so he can strip out of his shorts.

Kev squirms all pliant, makes big wet eyes at Sam with his arms thrown around his neck again, doesn’t tell him to stop when Sam smears the tip of his cock around the folds of his asshole. Just blinks, splutters, on getting Sam’s fingers down his throat again.

Sam tells him, “Shit,” and, “sit on my face. Lemme see how easy you cry.”

Kevin doesn’t seem satisfied with the speed his body moves him into position; Sam helps him, generously. Shudders at the cold of the linoleum floor, at the heat of Kevin’s ass he smothers himself in, actively, both paws yanking him down and holding him right where he wants him. Feels Kev shaking here when he growls, doesn’t let him move an inch even though all that stretching is probably for getting his mouth on Sam’s cock. He’s too short to reach.

Everything on Sam is big, and Kev’s ass struggles to fit his tongue inside for a few laborious moments. Panted breath, and Sam nibbles after he bites, squeezes him so tight he hopes it will leave bruises. That Kevin will feel this for days.

Kevin manages to get a grip on Sam’s cock and jacks it several beautiful times until he loses balance, one arm already braced on Sam’s stomach. Groans and hitches and Sam wants him to truly shake apart, swirls his tongue deep. If he’d fuck him with his cock like that, Kev could never take it.

Kev’s just holding him in a loose grip now, downright maddening, the best motivation to eat him out even harder. This isn’t a race against time but Sam eventually reaches around, gets his hand on that dick. Kevin seizes for that, bucks so sweet Sam’s now truly digging bruises into that hip.

Detaches from that heaven just to sigh, “Fuck, you’re wet,” flicks slick from his fingers before diving back in, abandoning Kev’s cock.

Kevin whines and Sam slaps his ass for that.

“Come on my face. C’mon.”

“I, I don’t think I—”

“You want them to hear?”

Kevin swallows further babbling, and Sam feels him trying to hump back onto his mouth. Doesn’t let him, though, gives his cock another soft stroke, just a tease, before slurping mean. Feels him tense, the tremor in his thighs, stutter in his breath.

On the next tease to his cock, Kevin comes. Sam holds him down through it and loves how he’s truly keeping all his noises low, how the effort of it makes his thighs strain, how his ass flutters without an ounce of control. Sam French-kisses it until Kev sucks in a first real breath, tries to peel at one of those wrists, cheek stuck to Sam’s stomach, all collapsed.

Sam lifts him off his face, shoves him down so he’s face-to-face with Sam’s cock, so Sam can see and finger at his ass.

“I didn’t know I—oh, ah…”

“Wanna get your mouth on it?”

Sam feels his balls ache with Kevin doing as he’s told, all good-boy and barely any teeth. Screws two fingers into the softness his tongue just left, still trembling inside, snapping tight.

Tells him, “I’m close,” and feels his eyes rolling back in his skull upon Kev getting a hand on the (huge) part his mouth can’t reach, jerk it hard. Babbles, “Fuck, fuck, Kev,” and curls his fingers right, fucks another weak dribble out of Kev while unloading against his Freshman tongue.

Kev spits, messily. Sam can barely hold back to scoop it up, finger it back behind his teeth. Lets him breathe, rolls him over, scoops him into his arms instead.

Hears, “Oh my god,” all soft and still weak, Sam’s sweet golden boy. “You’re… That… I’m… Wow.”

“You wanted to know.”

~

Sam’s on-paper husband gives a short glance at the crusted stains on his tank top and migrates to the couch. Sam gets him back with some spit, two fingers and empty promises.

Has him sobbing sweet, fat lower lip shuddering, hair stroked back and cheek leaning into Sam’s palm. Tells him, “You’re all I have. Don’t you love me?”

Gets his, “Yeah, yeah, I do, fuck, Sammy—”

There’s not much Smith won’t say or do or live through for some orgasms, for one-quarter of an hour of love.

~

Sam’s favorite part is that all their former text messages consisted of times and question marks and thumbs up emojis.

Dean squints. “Is that him?”

Sam answers by ignoring him, smiling sweet at his phone. At Kev’s ‘thinking of you’ text, on a Saturday. If Dean wasn’t still so delicate, Sam would consider driving down, right now.

Taps out ‘take photos’ and turns towards Dean, grabs a wrist, pulls him down into a kiss. “You wanna go out tonight? Or stay in?”

Dean frowns like Sam’s the bitch here. Lets Sam kiss around his mouth, his face. Tells him, “Hm,” and pets through Sam’s hair upon getting his slacks undone, his dick pulled out and nuzzled at.

After ten years together, Sam knows Dean’s cock better than the man himself. Knows how to work him right, knows the pace that gets him off or lets him stay on edge forever. Closes his eyes and gives him a show. The things he does for some quiet and peace.

“You know what we haven’t done in a while?”

Sam looks up at him, lets cock slide from the spit-soaked corner of his mouth. Says, “No,” with determination.

Dean holds his glare. Has his face cupped, held tight. “Yes, Sam. Now.”

“You know what, fuck you.”

“Oh no, you’re not weaseling out of this. You’re gonna do it, for _me_. Are we clear?”

Sam glares and has the man by the hips.

“I said are we _clear_ , Sam?”

Sam shoots to his feet and stomps to the bedroom.

It’s his fault. He knows that. Still.

But Dean is an asshole, too. It shouldn’t surprise him.

He lays out the variety on the floor, kneels. Waits for Dean to make his choices and tries not to give him too much satisfaction about the fact that he got his way.

“That one.”

Sam’s eyes flicker to the toy. Not up to Dean, until he must. “…That’s not gonna fit.”

“It fit before.”

“Well, it won’t.” His nail catches on the seam of his shorts. “We haven’t… It’s been too long.”

“Then I’ll work you up to it. It’s not like you have something better to do today, do you?”

Sam admits, “No.”

“Then put the ears on. I’ll—”

“No.”

“What, no?” Dean’s already got the collar in hand, clicks the leash to it.

Sam forces himself not to back away, says, “Not the ears.”

Dean looks at him for a moment, down on one knee, leather thick in his hand.

He decides, “Do as I say,” and Sam, he _does_ deserve this.

~

Sam dozes, sees the blurred flicker of the TV screen whenever he wakes. Blinks, lazy, and tries to swallow. Tries not to feel anything below his jaw.

When Dean finally gets up to untie him, Sam sags to the ground immediately. Coughs like it’s been hours and tries to tear off the collar despite the mittens.

“How’re we doing, huh?”

Dean toes at the plug and Sam’s guts cramp. He pulls his legs up just to find out that’s even more uncomfortable, gives another weak gurgle.

He lays limp until Dean kneels down, curls tugging fingers around the flared base of the toy. Sam thrashes, then.

“Hm. I’m impressed.”

Sam’s chin quivers. He keeps his eyes closed, doesn’t want to see. Both agony and pleasure zip up his spine, between his legs, and he push-pulls away, closer.

Dean shushes him while rocking the plug into place. “This is what you needed, huh? Shh, I know, I know.”

Dean gathers him in a choke-hold, arm locked around throat and pulled to hands and knees. Sam tries and tries to stay quiet and not-break but he’s on borrowed time and they both know he deserves worse than this. So when Dean starts tugging at the plug for real, starts to fuck him with it, Sam outright sobs. Popping and squelching noise mixes ugly, shamefully, and Sam is acutely aware of how hard he would be if it wasn’t for the cock cage.

“Don’t come.”

Sam doesn’t. And doesn’t, and doesn’t, minutes long. Falls into deep crying when Dean pushes the toy back in all the way, leaves it there, spanks him until Sam really has to stave off the inevitable.

Gurgles, “Stop,” barely-there underneath the pressure on his trachea, gets more because dogs don’t speak. “I can’t, I can’t—stop, Dean, Dean—”

He comes back to at the feet of their sofa, of his husband. Disoriented, sore, he cannot tell if orgasm or lack of air knocked him out. Doesn’t feel the weight of the collar anymore but the mittens are there, a less insanely sized plug. He’s cuffed to the sofa with one foot and hand each, and blinks for eye contact.

Dean’s got his feet stacked on top of each other on Sam’s chest and doesn’t look up from Sam’s phone. “Are you fucking him?”

Sam’s mouth smacks like paper. He should drink some water soon. Croaks, “No.”

“‘Can’t believe that was in me.’” Dean imitates the gullible type of porn-twink voice.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure.” The phone is dismissed to the corner, bounces off the cushion. “Fuck you, Sam. You think I can’t tell? Is he even of age?”

“He’s in college, man…”

“Does he know you’re married?” No reply. “Yeah,” Dean spits. “Exactly. And you have no problem lying to him. You think you’re so much better than me, that you deserve so much more. But you’re not any better than good ol’ Smith yourself.” A sneer, pursed mouth. “No wonder John lost interest.”

“Don’t.”

“You’ll lose the kid too, y’know.” Dean is nodding to himself now, arms crossed. Pleased. “Everyone’s gonna leave you, once they find out what you’re all about. And you know that.”

Sam rolls his head to face the TV before closing his eyes.

“This is as good as it’s gonna get, like it or not.”

~

Kevin isn’t as practiced in masking his emotions, and Sam’s single method of reconciliation is custom fit for people more deprived. It’s a quiet evening. Sam feels gutted in more than one way.

This is like learning a new language. “… Did… Did I do something wrong?”

He’s getting a frown; even eye contact. Dean would have ignored him. “That’s my line, isn’t it?”

“What? No, why?”

Kevin shrugs. “You ignored me until two minutes ago, I dunno? You didn’t come to the concert either, so I figured…”

“Ah, shit…”

“I told you, it’s nothing big. But, uh, I mean, I can put two and two together, so. I’m not mad or anything. You can tell me if…”

Sam presses, “It’s not what it looks like,” and hates that the sentence is so much truer than he’d like Kev to know. Kevin sizes him up, looks for evidence for his doubts as well as signs for hope. He truly doesn’t deserve to be pulled into this kind of bullshit. “Look,” Sam tries, but the weekend is too fresh to gloss over with another slick lie as easily. He rakes his hair back, with one hand first and two later. He slumps over where he stands and struggles to find his words.

Shit. Shit. Don’t panic. You’ve got this. “It’s, I. M-my dad, he’s… It’s complicated.”

The change in Kev’s attitude is immediate. “Oh,” he says, carefully. Okay. That’s good. He’s believing you. Keep going.

“He took my phone, and… Well, I couldn’t really…”

“Oh,” Kev says again, and Sam dares to look up—sees him nodding. He looks sincerely concerned. “That’s, uh… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. That, uh…”

“I’m sorry.”

Kevin assures, “It’s okay,” and puts a smile on that Sam doesn’t deserve. Pets Sam’s arm like a there-there, and Sam is enough of a piece of shit to try a shy smile himself. “If you ever wanna talk about it…”

“Thanks. Thank you, yeah.”

~

He’s got two beers and one and a half bag of Doritos into the kid.

For someone music-savvy, Kevin sings horribly off-key. But Rihanna isn’t Bach and Kev is usually asleep at this hour.

Sam is entertained beyond everything he’s experienced in months. He can’t remember laughing as openly, as sincerely as this. He hates that he’s getting so head-over-heels. Knows he’s gonna fall on his face, just doesn’t know when. It’s all so fucking bitter-sweet it could make a guy sick if he allowed himself to think about it.

Kev barely sobers upon the car pulling to a halt. Just wipes some of the crumbs from his face and beams at Sam. “What’s happening? Why’re we stopping?”

“I gotta piss. Just a second.”

Kevin comes after him midway through, joins him next to the bushes by the side of the road. He’s got problems getting his fly down and Sam laughs at him before he helps. Sam wipes his hands on his thighs after finishing up, and Kevin easily accepts the kiss while he’s still going.

Sam helps him flick the last drops off, helps him getting his dick back into his pants. Helps hoisting him up, too, so he can wrap his monkey-limbs around Sam’s neck and hips better. Passing cars honk at them. Sam carries the kid up to the car, sandwiches him between the Honda and himself. Kev sweet-boy-sighs, all pleased by the pressure, the promise to let himself fall without consequences. Sam rolls his hips to get some friction for his ever-demanding dick.

Kevin slurs, all smushed up against Sam’s mouth, “Fuck me.”

Sam laughs.

“No, really.” Sam feels him wriggling. “Do it. Don’t you want to? I wanna try.”

Sam’s fun fades into bewilderment. “Seriously?”

Kid’s got his lip between his teeth as he nods and tries to kiss Sam (unsuccessfully).

“Right now? Here?”

All Kevin has to object is a frowning, “I don’t, uh, not—not out here, obviously, uh, people are… But in the car? You’re so beautiful, Sam. You with your face and, and, your hair, and. Ugh, just…”

“You want me to fuck your ass in the back of my car,” Sam summarizes, and the idea is as enticing as it is impractical.

Kevin’s face gets just a little softer with the words. He nods.

Sam’s straightening his legs harder to tower some more. Let Kev feel the tension, the potential violence his body is capable of. “Say it.”

Kev pouts but repeats, “Fuck my ass, please,” and Sam takes that as an incentive to bury his face in that crook of Kev’s neck (to drive his cock against his still very-well clothed little ass). Kevin whimpers a curse word but keeps holding onto him.

Sam’s gonna regret this. “Again.”

“Fuck me. Come on, don’t m-make me—don’t make me say it, I…just, mh.”

“You’re drunk,” Sam tells him, eye-to-eye. “I shouldn’t.”

“I’m! What! You’re—that’s ridiculous. I’m not even…” Kevin bursts with laughter. “Okay, maybe, maybe a _little_ bit…”

Sam cups the kid’s face with one hand, strokes him gently. “I want you to be with me a hundred percent for it. Want you to feel—everything.”

“Feeling so much right now,” Kev sighs, and his mouth shudders with the words. Pecks at Sam for kisses, and Sam rewards him with tongue. “’S feel so good,” he gasps, once he can, “feels so good when you touch me. Like I’m burning. I’m so fucking hard, touch me, god, do it, please. Oh, please. Oh—” Sam does as he is told, and Kevin lets his head loll. Closes his eyes, pants up against Sam’s mouth, and Sam watches him closely.

“There’s a motel,” he tells him with his hand inside his shorts. “A few miles from here. If you want.”

Kevin’s nodding, grinding up into Sam’s touches, Sam’s body. “Please,” again, “if you wanna. I wanna. M-maybe just a little. Whatever, just—you.”

Kev smiles at him and Sam’s dick has long decided.

~

Sam turns off both their phones—Linda and Dean are equally insistent. The fallout will have to be dealt with eventually, but not now.

It’s a good decision to let Kev wait in the car. By the time Sam’s back with the keys, the kid’s sobered up just a little, stands by the beat-up tiny Honda and is as flushed as any girl at prom night. He chuckles and tails right after Sam, tells him in a whisper, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Sam reaches out to take his hand, lead him like that. They intertwine their fingers. Sam’s heart is gonna pop out of his chest at this rate.

Kevin’s lining his tiny body up to Sam’s while Sam gets the room unlocked, is so fucking warm that Sam’s cock throbs hard at the thought of how hot he’s gonna be inside.

The room is unspectacular. Two queens, and Kev flops down on one immediately. Blabbers, “Wow,” and maybe the situation sinks in now because he’s blinking a lot, looks for Sam’s eyes. Still smiling though. That’s a good sign. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Sam doesn’t point out how he’s repeating himself but takes the attention to pull his top over his head and toss it onto the floor.

Kevin’s mouth drops open and stays that way.

Sam asks, “You still want it?” and, upon the following stunned silence, pushes his basketball shorts down his hips. His cock leaps from underneath the waistband immediately, slaps up against his unreal-cut lower belly as he steps out of the pants. He doesn’t wrap his hand around it like it screams at him to do. Remains standing where he is, lets himself be on display, an offer to consider.

He’s lost control over his face, can’t feel much of it through the heat, the numbness. Maybe looks cold, emotionless; Dean says it happens a lot but can’t tell him if it’s a turn-off or not.

Sam blinks down at the kid. They both are frozen in place. “We can stop anytime,” he promises.

Kevin groan-rushes, “Oh my god,” and, “you’re so hot,” and flattens out on his back, hides his face in his hands and lets out a muffled, screamed laugh.

Sam’s heart twists mean in his chest.

He steps out of his flip-flops on his few feet to the bed, climbs onto it, onto Kevin, on all fours. Grabs at his wrists to pull them off that face he wants to kiss so badly and finds a smile there, all nervous and happy and eager to push their mouths together.

Sam lowers himself onto his forearms. He’s got Kev’s head framed like that, his hands cupping the crown of his hair, keeping him boxed in under the hulk of his body. Kevin loves it. Pushes his tongue against Sam’s with all the enthusiasm he can gather, tries worming his little legs out underneath Sam to wrap them around him somehow. Sam lets him, scoots his knees up further. If Kev was naked, they could fuck missionary style in the blink of an eye.

Sam is shivering. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” and Kev whispers, “Yeah?”, so he repeats, “Yeah. For the longest time. Been thinking about this. How it would be.”

“Really?” Kev smooches him on the chin, the corner of his mouth. Has his twig-arms tight around him, all snug and close and sharing beer-breath. Hushed, “I like you. I really do.”

“I…I really like you too, Kev.”

“I like you so much. So, so much.” Kevin squirms up against his cock and hums, apparently fucking pleased. “I didn’t know I would… Like, with another guy, but… I dunno, you’re, you’re real special. You’re always so nice to me. And you’re so hot, I don’t understand.”

Sam reverently, honestly repeats, “I really, really like you,” and lends one arm to yank at Kevin’s pants.

Joined efforts get those and Kev’s underwear to dangle from one ankle, until they ultimately fall off and onto the ground. Sam re-occupies the space immediately, rocking them together and shit, god. He’s gonna die here.

“You want me to fuck you? Here?”

Kevin gasp-groans at the expert push of pierced glans up against his way-too-snug asshole. But he recovers quickly enough, assures, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Say it.”

“Want you to, to, fuck my ass.”

Sam slurs, “We’re gonna have to work for that,” starts to lose it already and they’re only just dry-humping. He needs it so bad. Hasn’t needed it this much in forever. He slips the wet tip of his cock up-down Kev’s gash, balanced on one strong arm and the other wringing the base. He pretends to push in just to feel the surprise rocketing through Kev’s entire body. He grins. “It’s not gonna fit just like that. Here.” He lifts himself up, pats the mattress. “Here, c’mon. Sit on my face.”

Kevin winces but does climb after him. Turns around, complaining, hesitating because he says he’s not showered, maybe they should shower first, but Sam’s arms pulling him back and down and Sam’s face smothering itself with ass lets his worries dissolve like magic. “Oh,” he gasps, scrabbles his wet hands over Sam’s stomach in search of support and accidentally digs his still-sneakered foot into Sam’s shoulder instead of the pillow, but he settles soon enough. And it’s not like Sam would be wary of any of those minor discomforts.

He groans deep and low with his tongue already pushing up into his favorite boy and savors the whole-body shiver he gets for that. The bewildered noises.

“Oh, that, that’s, oh, I—I’m, Sam, I…”

Sam growls upon him shutting up in favor of latching his mouth just onto the very tip of his cock.

A too-small hand joins it, wrings him base to tip, and he hears Kev slurping, slurring, “You’re so wet,” and Kev pulls the foreskin back for good and Sam must focus to keep from coming right here and now.

Kev can’t reach far enough, and Sam is too much of an expert at eating ass to make this a true battle. All Sam has to do is yank on him a little and he almost falls off, huffs and pants and can’t string words together anymore.

The constant massage lets the muscle start to relax soon enough. Linda’s golden boy is a natural.

Sam pushes him off his face just high enough to get a good look, to fumble his hand there and get his thumb into the game. He instructs, “Relax,” and Kevin, he really is doing his best here. Sam’s cock drips out another gush of precome and Kevin is too occupied to lick it up.

Sam licks his lips, rotates his thumb. “You did bring the…?”

“Fuh-from the glovebox? Uh, yeah, in my, in the back of my…”

“Awesome. Okay, you gotta let me up so I can get it. There you go. Just a second.” Sam rolls out of bed to raid the sad heap of clothes. He’s got the lube popped open before he’s back with Kev. He informs, “This might take a while,” and squirts considerable amounts of slick into his hand, nods towards the headboard. “Get comfy. On your side, maybe. Yeah, just like that. That’s it.”

It’s so fucking easy to hike Kevin’s leg up over his own hip, pull him nice and open like that and just eat at his mouth. He’s just petting the lube in as of now, rubs hard and almost-in. Kevin makes himself available. So fucking pliant. This is gonna be good.

“How’s it feel?” mouth-to-mouth and middle finger deep, and Sam means it.

Kevin’s got his eyes closed, drifting like any good bottom with something up his ass. Natural, absolutely. “Mh,” he babbles, and his face shifts from drowsy to smiling, “weird. Big. Everything on you’s so huge.”

Sam would be worried more if Kevin wasn’t plucking on his tits like a pro while baby-talking him. “Bad-weird?”

Kev keeps smiling and gives his head a tiny shake. Sam melts with the gasp upon being breached by finger number two.

“You know something else that’s big?”

“Uh-uh.”

“My cock.”

Kevin whimpers.

“’S right.” Sam licks into that liquid mouth and presses knuckle-deep. Kev’s breath hitches up against his tits. “You think this little pussy can take it, Kev?”

Kevin whimpers louder.

“Gotta talk to me, Kev. Said you wanted it, didn’t you? Tell me how it feels.”

The reply is delayed by the first careful stroke in and out. Sam is as patient as he is insistent. “Feels so good,” is what Kevin can get out between their mouths, his little hands uselessly caught between their chests, idly plucking at a pierced nipple. And, “Yeah, want it. I p-p-practiced, so it…”

“Practiced with what?”

“D-don’t make me say it.”

“What did you shove in here, huh?”

It’s beautiful how Kevin twists for him. How easy he is to hold down, how soft his insides are for Sam’s fingers banging him out with increasing tempo. How fucking scarlet his head is from just a little booze and foreplay and getting dirty-talked. “I’m, I,” he stammers, and he lets Sam roll onto him without much commentary, just keeps holding onto his neck and does a semi-job at remembering to breathe.

Sam angles the third in, and it feels impossible until Kev’s body gives in, butter-soft and burning up.

Sam strains his arm to punch into him right. He holds his arm strong and pulsates his fingers in place, right where it counts.

He swears there are tears shooting into Kev’s starry eyes.

He nods, “Uh-huh,” to nothing in particular, thinks he smiles down at his boy. Grinds their foreheads and then their mouths together. There’s no intention to let him come up for much air. “Doing so fucking good, Kev. You know how many those are?”

Kevin hiccups before he groans. “Uh, t-try. I think we can…”

“Think you can fit my cock in there?”

“It’s, you’re mean,” laughs Kevin, and Sam grins stupid for that. “You’re such a tease. Screw you.”

“You can’t even talk right.”

“ _Put your dick in me_.”

Sam laughs. “Look at you, all bossy.”

“You’re damn right I—” The proud one-liner is interrupted by a choked-off something Sam’s arm is grinding out of him.

“If you’re so ready, tell me. How’d you want it, huh? On your back? From behind?” Sam’s cock-drunk. So close to the goal, it all seems like any other too-good-to-be-true dream. The sweat, the heat, the tension in his body, in the body caged underneath him. “It’s easier from behind. C’mon, turn over.”

Not without a raise in Kev’s vocal efforts, they turn him to lie on his belly with Sam’s hand relentlessly working his ass. Sam isn’t one to miss a beat. He takes a wide-kneed seat on the back of one of those thighs, pushes the other away with his free hand. The angle is good and prompts Kev to curl his ass out further. He grabs a pillow without being asked to.

Sam rubs from thigh to hip, pushes Kev’s tee up his armpits and there’s enough bare skin for Sam’s eyes to drown in.

That not-fingerbanging hand goes to wrap around his own cock to stroke it once, twice, before he smacks it down over Kev’s ass cheek.

“I’ll grab a condom, alright?”

Kevin gives his muffled consent.

Sam carefully pulls his fingers out, rubs that shiest of gapes one wholesome time and bounds towards his shorts. He prepared for this.

He rips the wrapper open, standing in front of the bed, and as he does, he realizes he’s never done this before. He looks down his body, and.

Wow. Shit. This is happening. For real.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just, uh—just a second.”

“Does it…?”

“Yeah, it’s just… There it is. Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Sam crawls back into his spot, on elbows and knees, and Kev’s sloppy mouth is begging to be kissed, so he does that. Flattens himself but doesn’t lay down completely (he’d crush the kid), lets him feel all the straining muscle, the pulse of his dick tucked up against his tailbone now.

“Ready?”

“Let’s try.”

“Alright. Okay. If you need me to stop…”

“Yeah, just—do it.”

Kevin sounds so sure, but Sam can feel his heart pounding in his chicken-chest. He’s got it cupped with both palms, wants to keep him hugged and close like that. He works his hips to line his cock up, directs Kev’s knees and thus thighs with his own knees, and, yeah, like that, it should…

A gentle push forward. He doesn’t slip.

Kev seizes.

“Shhh, relax, I’ve got you. I’ll go super slow.”

Sam can’t remember what he said the moment it came out his mouth. All he knows is that he’s burying his dick in slow-motion, and that he can’t compare it to anything.

They’re both holding their breath, he thinks.

Kev flinches just past the crown, tosses his pretty head.

Sam kisses that ear, behind it. “You okay?”

“The piercing,” he hears, and god, yeah. He wonders how that might feel.

Kevin surprises him by grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers to the right of his head.

Sam lowers his knees into the mattress for just that little bit more leverage that gets him that important inch deeper—and rests here. Just for a couple of moments. A breather.

He’s shaking. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, god, it’s… Phew, you’re…”

Sam chuckles. “Thought you’re the advanced placement kinda guy.”

“It’s, is that… Is it all of it?” Kev whines upon Sam’s guilty laughter. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s not a race,” mutters Sam and shifts his hips experimentally. Just to see what options he has, what might work. God. It works well.

They both groan.

Kevin informs, “I’m gonna die,” with Sam nibbling at his ear, his neck, but pushes back on that cock for more. “You’re gonna kill me. I’m gonna die.”

Sam soothes him with the slowest, most careful stroke. Short-ranged motion, but god, he can tell it’s pulling the kid inside-out.

It’s the best fucking sensation, ever.

Sam growls and readjusts his knees for better leverage. Feels Kev whimpering, his little legs slotting together and apart, unsure what to do. That shit gets Sam an involuntary massage. He grinds another inch home and lets his head hang.

“God. Fuck.” He’s slurring. “Feels so fucking good on my dick, Kev. So fucking hard. Can you tell, huh?”

Kev’s nodding his approval and curls his ass out instead of in when Sam quickens the rhythm.

Still quite the length to go but he’s gotta work for that gut-space. Kev’s insides are hot and crushing and sucking on him, on the piercing, everything. All Sam can think is more, faster, harder. He blinks through the curtain of his hair and over Kev’s sweaty back, the back of his head, their holding hands.

By the time he realizes he’s lost a few minutes, they’re already gone. He gasps, terrified, the rhythm of his hips stumbling. He camouflages it by shuffling his limbs, re-arranging Kevin some. He prompts, “How’s it feel?” and hates how tight his throat is, tries to breathe normally, keep going.

Kevin is unable to reply. Sam is going so hard on him by now he’s reduced to wet grunts.

Sam flips him onto his side, up on his knees himself now, insisting, “Tell me,” growling, impatient. God, he’s sweating.

Kev’s barely managing to focus his eyes he’s so gone with it. But he does reach out for Sam’s hand, death-gripped around his thigh. Sam can’t spare it. He just can’t. So Kev settles with holding onto his wrist, his entire body moving with every thrust.

Sam changes their positioning several more times. It takes a while for him to realize he can’t and won’t come. Would take more than he has to give to admit that he’s not feeling anything but dread right now.

So Sam fakes an orgasm. He’s practiced with that but Kevin’s still surprised when the fuck dies off. Maybe just because he’s so goddamn out of it.

“Duh-did…you finish?”

“Yeah,” Sam lies, “sorry.” Panic, emptiness, shame. He hopes the pull-out turns out as careful as he intends to exercise it. His numb mouth presses to Kev’s sweaty temple. “I can finish you off, if you want?”

Kevin makes contended noises and begins to wrap around Sam anew. Sam can’t help but withdraw. “Don’t you want to come? Here, let me…”

“Cuddles,” coos Kevin, and Sam’s entire being is overwhelmed.

He can’t do it. “Sorry,” he thinks he says, repeats it as he pushes away from Kev, gets off the bed, crosses the room to lock himself into the bathroom.

Sam sinks into the corner between tub and door. He has no say in how any part of his body is reacting right now with panic raining down on him, turning him blind and deaf and paralyzed. A cowering heap of flesh on the tiles. He folds in on himself as tight as he physically can and doesn’t exist.

~

Time passes to a point Sam forgets where he is. He wakes shivering, confused. Someone’s knocking on the door.

“I really have to pee.”

Fuck. “Sorry. Sorry, I—yeah. Wait.”

Sam gets up, unlocks the door, squeezes out without looking at Kev and waits, standing uselessly in the middle of the room. It’s still dark. He has no clue what time it is.

The cover lies crumpled and loose on top of the bed they fucked in. Kev must have slept. The shaking won’t stop. Sam rubs at his own arm, butt-naked.

The toilet flushes and Sam positions himself close to the door, ready to slide back in once he can. But Kev pushes the door ajar just-so. Must be peeking out; Sam’s eyes are strict on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as if Sam was capable of an answer.

Sam hovers, now sweating, swaying. “Let me back in there, please.”

“Okay. Okay. If there’s anything I can do—”

Sam pushes in the second Kevin’s out far enough.

Sam showers, hot, for a long while. He wraps himself in all the towels he can find and rolls into a fetal position inside the tub to sleep.

~

They both wake up early.

Sam exits the bathroom in silence and is both grateful and horrified that Kevin doesn’t try to start a conversation. He is aware he is being watched as he pulls his clothes back on. Once dressed, he’s come to a dead-end.

Sam wrings his hands inside each other, eyes to the floor. He murmurs, “Let’s grab breakfast, yeah?” and hears Kev’s gentle, “Okay.”

Sam stands by the door, head bowed, facing away from the room, waiting for Kevin to use the bathroom, get dressed. They leave the room together and head for the reception area, the tiny breakfast section. Sam fills coffee into a paper cup. The smell of the scrambled eggs on Kev’s plate makes him nauseous.

They can see the parking lot from the windows. It’s a bright, sunny morning. Barely any other guests are around, mainly the business types, dragging tiny-wheeled suitcases after themselves. The huge TV over the reception desk plays the news.

Kev holds out for quite a decent amount of time. “Is… Did I… Did I do something wrong?”

Sam immediately tells him, “No,” without looking at him.

“Then what…”

“I’m really fucked up, you know.”

Kev’s mouth shuts effectively.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” says Sam. “It’s not your fault.”

The silence is suffocating. Kevin eventually breaks. “You don’t have to talk about it if—”

“Yeah, and I’m not gonna.” He cringes at the violent speed of his own voice, fidgets with his cup, wipes his face with his hand. He starts, “I’m,” but doesn’t have anywhere to go from there. “Sorry. Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sam.”

“It’s really not.”

“I’m sorry that you’re so upset—” Sam scoffs manically “—and if there’s anything you need right now, I—”

“What, you’re gonna heal me?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Do us both a favor and shut your fucking mouth.”

Kevin does that.

~

“I turned it off last night. If your mom freaks out, just tell her it’s my fault.”

They’re parked just outside of campus and it’s Kevin’s turn to scoff while reviving his phone. “Yeah, I’ll just tell her I got drunk and fucked my tutor while I’m at it, no biggie.”

“I really don’t fucking care, man.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Kev unbuckles and opens the door. Halfway slipped out already, he snaps, “Bye then, I guess,” and Sam’s empty mirrored, “Bye,” pushes him out completely.

The door gets slammed shut and the gear is already set; the car jolts into motion. Sam doesn’t look back.

It’s quite a drive until home. Sam’s stomach comes alive halfway through, weakly, but settles patiently when he chooses to ignore it. He pushes everything down until he feels absolutely nothing. An empty arrangement of bones, sinew and muscle, operating.

All it would take is one single thought. It’s such a delicate system, but it’s all he’s got. It’s gonna get better eventually. You bury and you forget. It worked before.

Smith waits for him, and the surprise of seeing him in broad daylight is enough to throw Sam off balance yet again. On sight, Dean roars, “Where were you?!” and similar lines, closes in so fast so near that even Sam’s dulled senses pick up the waft of booze coming with that breath. “I called you, like, a billion times, what the fuck!?” Dean’s arms are flying about, nearly hitting Sam in the face, and Sam can only fish-mouth.

He doesn’t know he’s doing it until Dean halts, squinting like crazy, now barking, “Why the fuck are you crying?!”

~

Sam doesn’t speak for the next week, until Dean asks him whether he’d like to go out for breakfast today. A quiet, careful, “Yes.”

He’s drunk so much that he doesn’t smell it on either of them at this point. He eats and drinks, showers, sobs in bed in two layers of clothes. Dean stays around, cleaning up after him, sometimes holding him in his sleep.

They’ve been to this place before, a lot, when Sam was younger. The place has seen some serious reno since then. Sam’s eyes fill up parallel to the syrup drowning his pancakes.

Discreetly, Dean hands him a paper towel. Sam sets the syrup down and holds the towel to his face with both hands to sob into it, perfectly silent.

He can hear Dean sighing and reaching for his cup of coffee.

Outside, the sun hurts Sam’s eyes. He tucks his head back deeper into his hood. “Come on, now,” exclaims Dean, “you’re not a vampire!”

“Maybe I am,” jokes Sam, tugged along by Dean’s arm hooked into his. “Nothing satisfies me anymore. Maybe blood will make it better.”

“Hilarious.”

“Can we stop over there?”

Dean squints into the direction Sam is nodding towards, hesitates but tells him, “Sure.”

They take seats on one of the benches facing the playground. Few children and parents are around. Sam gazes at the monkey bars. “I used to love those,” he recounts.

An absent, “Uh-huh.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“What? Oh. The swings, I guess.”

“I wonder if that says anything about you.”

Smith scoffs.

“Like, do gay kids use different toys than straights? Or, like, ‘ah, he used the X. A typical future serial killer.’”

“I seriously hope you don’t expect me to answer that.”

“No,” admits Sam, now observing one of the little boys at his attempt to climb the slide. “You know, but sometimes I wonder.”

Smith sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “About what?”

“About whether you’re aware of how much you took from me.”

Smith scoffs, again. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“Like, I get it, you’re ashamed.” Sam shrugs, hands shoved deep into his hoodie’s front pouch. “I’d bury that shit, too. But, like. It must be hard. Right? I was, like, twelve, when we met.” Sam turns his head to look at Dean now. “Right?”

Dean is staring straight ahead, arms crossed in front of his chest. After a while, he roughly admits, “Well, technically, the first time I saw you, you were around that age, yeah.”

“You took me to your home, like, soon.”

Dean is fast to remind, “I didn’t do anything until a year and a half in.”

Sam gently tells him, “You made me shower with you, like, the fourth weekend in.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest but ends up shutting it in sour defeat.

“I never told Kathy. You know, the therapist.”

“Well, maybe you should have.”

“’S that why you hired her? So I could work out my trauma and just, stay with you?” Sam sees his husband shrugging, frowning. “I mean, that’s cute, but, seriously? You’re a sad man, Dean.”

Smith sits up, snapping, “Are you done?” both meaning the humiliation and watching the preschooler struggle his way up the slide.

“No, actually. Not until I die, I guess.” Sam’s exhaustion pulls at him like a noose. He won’t get back to the apartment, neither strong nor sober enough to make it those few blocks. He’s aware of that, always, of the goddamn dependency. “But we can leave, if you want.”

Smith decides, “Great,” and tugs Sam back home.


End file.
